


Alexander son of Olympias

by baydreamer



Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Alexander the Great (2003) RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baydreamer/pseuds/baydreamer
Summary: Olympias met Roxana for the first time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Pella, 319 BC**

They gazed at each other in the palace courtyard under the Macedonian sky. A mother without her son. A wife without her husband. They had wondered about this moment for eight years. 

The younger woman lowered her eyes. She wore a simple white peplos for this occasion with a crimson cloak. Her slender figure was almost childlike, her lustrous dark hair combed carefully behind her ears with a purple saffron on one side. Roxana knelt down and bowed her head. “Joy to you, lady Mother.” She wasn't sure this was the appropriate address, yet could think of no other. 

Olympias had grown stout around her waist in recent years, which gave her a more regal look. Her back was straight, her head held high, her flaxen grey hair tied to a bun and covered with a bright blue Persian silk scarf; sapphire earrings matching her bright eyes. She studied Roxana. “Dear Mother, I’ve met the most beautiful girl. Her eyes shine like morning stars. She sings beautifully. I’m marrying her.” She remembered the fervent letter from her son. She stepped forward and lifted up Roxana. “Welcome to Macedon, dear child.” Roxana looked at the ocean blue eyes - the same as she remembered on a young man years ago - same deep set, same intensity though more reservation. 

“This is Alexander son of Alexander. Your grandson, lady Mother.” Roxana put her hand gently on the child next to her, giving him a gentle nudge. “Sweetheart, come greet Grandmama.”

Olympias stooped down and touched the child’s cheek. She wanted to see traces of the golden boy she’d held in her arms decades ago. She didn’t. This child had olive skin, dark hair and dark eyes. Every inch his mother’s son. A beautiful boy. The child stared at her curiously, clutching his mother’s peplos. 

“Joy to you, Grandmama”. Perfect Macedonian.

“Welcome home, Alekos.” whispered Olympias with a tight throat. She glanced gratefully at Roxana, who understood it and smiled back. 

Inside the palace hall, Roxana blinked to steady her eyes. If not for the mosaic on the floor and the fresco on the wall, she might have thought she was back in Babylon. The silk draperies. The ebony chairs with ivory inlays. The bronze lion stand. The golden wine set. The oil lamps with long beaks decorated with ruby and emerald. Olympias gestured, “Take a seat.” and sat down herself.

A servant girl poured some rose wines for both women and laid a plate of cheese and honeyed dates on the small table between them. 

“You’ve traveled far, Roxana. How was the journey?”

“Very well. General Antipatros was most kind.” Roxana saw a slight twitch around Olympias’ mouth. She’d heard about the years of animosity between the two but had no interest taking sides.

“You speak Greek well.”

“Thank you, lady Mother. Alexander, the late King, enjoyed conversations. He was most pleased when I could talk to him.”

“Yes he did.” pondered Olympias. “And your son? Who taught him Macedonian?”

“General Perdikkas had arranged a tutor for him. He said my son was the King of Macedon. He must learn his people’s language.” said Roxana with a tinge of sadness. Perdikkas had been assassinated by his own men the year earlier.

“Yes. He’s also the hegemon of all Greece, Pharoh of Egypt, the great King of Persia. He has much to learn.” said Olympias, watching the child pick up a date. “He likes sweets, just like his father.” 

“I hope it doesn’t ruin his appetite. He is very picky with his food. It takes much coaxing to finish his meals. And he’s most stubborn.”

Of course he is, thought Olympias. She watched the child open his full lips and stuffed the date in his little mouth. She felt her stomach churning. Suddenly she was swept over by weariness. “Both of you must be very tired from the long trip. I’ll have you shown to your quarters. We have much time to catch up.”

 

**Sogdia, 327 BC**

Roxana sat quietly in front of the mirror, indifferent to all the fuss around her. Her mother was giving out orders to the many maids running to and fro. She had been bathed, oiled, perfumed and dressed, her hair braided. She was adorned with many precious stones and jewelry - gifts from her bridegroom, the new king of kings. It was her wedding day. 

For two years the name Alexander had been a cause of panic to her countrymen. Her father Oxyartes would explode in rage at the mere mention of it. Night after night she prayed this barbarian would go away or be killed. God didn’t answer her. The Macedonians grew wings and flew on the rock where her city dwelled. Sogdia fell to the invincible army of Alexander. She feared the worst and waited in dread.

No one came for her. Instead, a celebration banquet was arranged. She was to sing and dance for the victors. There was no arguing for dignity from the defeated. Her mother suggested that she learned a Greek song to placate the conquerors.

_"I sing of Dionysos, the son of glorious Semele._  
_Hail, child of fair-faced Semele!_  
_He who forgets you can in no wise order sweet song."_

Standing in the middle of the banquet hall, she started singing. Bawdy laughters stopped. The room grew quite. An intense glare fell on her from the young man sitting in the middle. He didn’t have horns as she’d heard, though he was still a strange sight. His face was pink and beardless. How scandalous for a grown man, she thought. His eyes glistened, almost colorless under the flickering torches. He smiled at her. Roxana's heart leapt. 

The next day she was informed that she was to marry the new king. Roxana was almost sixteen. Oxyartes had not had much time to consider what most advantageous marriages Roxana could bring him. When Alexander made the proposition he could hardly believe his good fortune! Being the father-in-law of the great King! Imagine all the riches and prestige the snooty Persians would never bestow on him. He must have pleased God.

“Lady Roxana, it is time.” Roxana looked at her mother, who nodded assuringly. 

“May God give you a kind husband and many sons.” She kissed her mother, took a deep breath and followed the servants.

“To the bride!” thunderous cheers in the banquet hall. Most of the Macedonian guests were already drunk. Their eyes landed hungrily on her - half couldn’t hide their distaste, as if she was some unbecoming sight; the other half full of lust stripping her with their stares. All the men but one.

Hephaistion sat next to Oxyartes, who still hadn't mastered the Greek recline at banquets. He’d downed several drinks with the old man already, celebrating their new found friendship. Enough respect was paid to the King’s new father-in-law, but make no mistakes who had the command in this encounter. Hephaistion's gaze laid warily on Alexander, who sat with his new bride in the middle of the hall beaming with joy as he accepted all the well wishes from his men. 

Hephaistion felt tired, sipping his wine lazily. He had been talking to the high ranks for days, one by one, trying to convince them this marriage was a politically shrewd necessity. 

It’d help us get out of this shit hole.  
Aren’t you tired of the fucking guerrilla fights?  
We will move to India for the riches. Let Oxyartes deal with the dumbass rocks here. 

Somewhere deep down though, Hephaistion wondered if he was trying to convince himself. He knew Alexander, probably better than Alexander knew himself. He had been there when Alexander set his eyes on Roxana. He knew the look of desire. It was the same look when Alexander hunted lions, or sieged cities, or conquered new people. Whatever Alexander had, he would want more. “You only add, never subtract.” joked Hephaistion once. “Give your little math brain a rest, will you?” was Alexander’s response, knowing full well it was true.

He took another sip and met Alexander’s eyes. There was a touch of concern. He offered an encouraging smile; Alexander smiled back with relief. All was well, yet Hephaistion felt his heart stung. He didn’t want comradery or magnanimity or reassurance. He wanted Alexander. He wanted to go back in time to Mieza when they had no one but the other. But even back then, he had known Alexander strived for greatness. His ambitions had no bound, and Hephaistion loved him for that - Alexander pushing himself and everyone else to do the unimaginable. It was thrilling. He would have no other. Then of course, the King must be generous and loving to all men; he must exercise the kingly privileges; he needed to earn loyalty and inspire awe. Hephaistion had to share Alexander. He hadn't minded when Alexander took others to his bed. But a wife was different. She was here to stay. They would have children - something he would never share with Alexander.

Hephaistion sighed at this thought. He had just read the latest letter from Olympias. The usual - Antipatros was probably conspiring behind her back; the latest batch of Persian golden dishes was beautiful; Kleopatra was managing splendidly in her husband’s stead. Always the same ending, “My dearest son, bear in heart your royal duty.” A king’s duty to his people; a son’s duty to his mother - you must beget heirs. Maybe she will be satisfied now and leave me alone, Hephaistion snorted.

An arm was slung over his shoulders. “Don't look so gloomy my friend.” Oxyartes’ drunken breath blown on his face. Hephaistion looked at him calmly, not offering any emotions. “Come on, I know you Macedonians. Should I send someone to occupy your bed tonight? May not be a virgin but pleasing all the same …” 

Hephaistion smiled diplomatically. “Nothing pleases me more than your cavalry, my Lord. Cheers to the King and your beautiful daughter.”

Roaring cheers across the room. Alexander had just broken the bread: one half for the groom and the other for the bride. The marriage was sealed; time for the bridal couple to retire. Hephaistion took one more look at Alexander, radiant, youthful, flushed with joy, the golden boy he fell in love with years ago. Suddenly he was swelled with love and felt almost ashamed of his selfish thoughts earlier. There had been much treachery in the past two years - Philotas, Callisthenes, the pages, Kleitos. The man who never flinched at any physical wounds could so easily succumb to grief caused by disloyalty. He would give up anything to have his carefree Alexander back. It was enough to just see him happy. Their eyes met again. 

May she love and adore you and give you many sons.

****

“Tell me, dear daughter, is the King treating you well?” Roxana's mother sat next to her, holding her hands, searching her eyes anxiously.

“Yes mother. He is very kind.” blushed Roxana. Alexander wasn't rough. She was grateful for that. And he showered her with gifts.

Her mother was relieved but still searching. “Is he, the King, pleased with you?” 

Roxana's blush deepened. “I think so. I hope so. Mother, he never spent the night here.”

“Ah, you needn't worry. He was seen leaving your chamber so I sent my women to find out why. They said he didn’t sleep anywhere but his own bed fearing some may attempt for his life. Have you missed your course?”

“Mother!” cried Roxana. “No. We didn't always… It was strange… Sometimes I think he's more interested in my singing or conversations. It's rather awkward with the interpreter there.” Roxana lowered her head. A look of concern on her mother's face.

“Roxana dear, you must try harder to win his heart. Give him a son. Then you will be safe when he takes more wives.”

Roxana looked up startled.

“Why, child, you do know the great King will have many wives and concubines. But if you give him a son, he won't replace you. Your son will be the oldest. He could be the next king some day.”

Roxana pondered on her mother's words. She would need try harder but wasn't sure how. Maybe she would learn more songs in Greek.

A few months later, Roxana kissed her mother farewell. She left with the Macedonian army to India.


	2. Chapter 2

**Pella, 319 BC**

Olympias sat at her desk, staring at the parchment in her hands. Alexander’s last letter. She had memorized every word in it. 

“Dear Mother, Forgive me for having not written recently. I have some great news to share with you. The Oracle in Siwah has made Hephaistion a divine hero. We are to make sacrifices to him as such. I can’t tell you how happy I am. No man is more worthy of this honor. What more, I will join him in Elysium some day. You will be proud of the work I’m doing for his memories …” He went on describing in painful details the funeral preparations - the magnificent pyre, the splendid games, the fabulous plays. Thousands of people were pouring in to Babylon. It was to be better celebrations than anyone had ever seen. “By the way, Roxana is with child. The baby will arrive this summer. I should like you to come visit in Babylon. I know you’ve been waiting for long.”

This was the only letter she received since he’d arrived in Ekbatana. He had always been a dutiful son. The lack of words had worried her. Her heart sank when news came that Hephaistion had died. 

“Mother, I beat Hephaistion at foot race today!” She remembered those dinner conversations.  
“Mother, do you know Hephaistion’s favorite food is fish? Why would anyone like fish? It’s so bland!”  
“Mother, Hephaistion is to join me in Mieza! I should thank Father tomorrow.”

Hephaistion, Hephaistion, Hephaistion - that lanky son of Amyntor's with dark curls and a face too pretty for his own good. Boys like him aroused lust in older men and jealousy in their peers. But Alexander wasn’t jealous. He was besotted, stuffing her ears with endless Hephaistion tales. A few years went by. She couldn't remember quite when - he stopped mentioning Hephaistion to her. Not just that, he seemed to have stopped confiding in her altogether. He still called upon her, telling her about his studies and trainings, but no longer his inner thoughts. His temper grew, his patience short. She felt frustrated and blamed Hephaistion for the changes. She wanted her little boy back. She wanted to be his confidante again.

Just when she was questioning his devotions, Alexander showed Macedon that he was Olympias' son. When Philip all but displaced her by marrying the young Eurydike, he self exiled with her to Molossia, her childhood home. The son's honor and legitimacy lied with those of his mother. He was willing to risk his father's wrath and stood by her.

In Molossia, Hephaistion fell ill. For three days his temperature ran high; he slipped in and out of consciousness.

“Mother, save him, please. The gods have always favored you.” sobbed Alexander, kneeling in front of her, his head in her lap. 

She stroked his golden locks gently. “Of course, my son. I've made sacrifices already. He will be well. He’s young and strong.”

Her heart felt a pang as he lifted his teary blue eyes. Her fearless, confident, reckless son; never had she seen him so frightened. A shudder ran down her spine.

“I can’t go on without him.” murmured Alexander. She caressed his cheeks, wiping away his tears. 

“Alekos, he won't leave you. Remember, you will always have me.” She was unsure he'd heard her. He shook his head and wept. She rubbed his back, feeling unsettled. As much as she and Philip had been at odds, they had agreed Alexander was too obsessed over Hephaistion. It was unseemly. A prince should not let anyone have such grip over him. They had tried to distract him and failed miserably. It was clear to her now; this was not some adolescent infatuation. Her son was in love. Foolish boy, she thought angrily. How could he be Philip’s son? Philip had fucked everyone he laid eyes on; but Philip would never give his heart to anyone. For once she wished Alexander had been more like Philip. How would he sustain Hephaistion’s eventual betrayal? Everyone befriended the king for his own gain. She, Olympias, was the daughter of a king and the wife of a king. She had seen enough.

Yet she had been wrong. For the next fifteen years Hephaistion stood resolutely by Alexander’s side, body and soul. She followed faithfully their conquests, trials and tribulations through his letters. There had never been a hint of doubt where Hephaistion placed in Alexander's heart. Admittedly she was jealous of him, of his closeness to Alexander, in proximity and emotions. But she was more grateful that Alexander had his companionship and loyalty, that during the long arduous campaigns, Alexander could feel at home in his company. There was only one problem - no heirs ever came. Out of desperation she pleaded with Hephaistion. Maybe he could influence Alexander. The young man took her words as reproach and rebuffed her. It would seem the jealous feelings were mutual.

Now Hephaistion was gone. She could not sleep for days worrying how Alexander was coping. However, she held out hope that Alexander, the undefeated conqueror of the known world with many near death incidents, would pull through.

Olympias wiped her eyes when she heard the announcement. “The King and Lady Roxana.”

“Come in, dear.” Olympias embraced Roxana, then kissed little Alexander. “Did you rest well?”

“Very much. Thank you for the arrangement. We were very comfortable.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Come over Alekos. I'll show you something.” She took the child's hand and led him to a wooden chest in the corner. She opened it and took out a bag. Alexander's eyes widened. She sat on the floor next to the child and reached her hand in the bag. One by one out came wooden soldiers, horses, little swords and shields… The child grabbed the toys enthusiastically. “Look, mama!” Olympias smiled at him. Roxana sat next to him, picking up a cavalryman with a lion skin helmet.

“That's the king!” said the child gleefully.

“I know.”said Roxana quietly.

“Alekos,” Olympias turned to the child, “These were your father’s toys. He used to spend hours making battles. The King always led the changes.”

They watched the child moving the soldiers and horses, lining up the cavalry. He knew the Macedonian war cry quite well.

“What was he like?” asked Olympias.

“What?” asked Roxana bewilderedly.

“Alexander didn't write since he arrived in Ekbatana. I was worried but then I thought, he was a married man now. Twice over. Surely he would be looked after.”

Roxana looked up sharply, feeling incredulous. Was she being blamed? I barely saw him, your bloody son. Did you even know him? How could you think I had any influence? She wanted to shout at Olympias but swallowed her words. 

“Alexander,” started Roxana, “was quite exhausted after the desert. The arrow wound still pained him. He held many banquets and competitions and festivities, giving awards and all. The Chiliarch was the only one who could get him to rest.” She paused. “But he passed away. Alexander wasn't quite himself after.”

Olympias closed her eyes. She knew. It was the beginning of the end.

**Ekbatana, 324 BC**

“Lady Roxana!”

A servant announced. Roxana waited at the door. She had just arrived from Susa.

Susa! The God forsaken place. She hated it with every inch of her being. It was supposed to be a reunion with her husband after the long separation. She’d been married for three years but could number the days they were together. She had been dragged through India in rain, mud, mosquitoes and snakes. Her stomach felt queasy just thinking about the endless hours in the carriage. Alexander was constantly away on military campaigns. Then he got wounded by the Mallians and almost lost his life. How she remembered those panicky days in Hephaistion’s camp! She had not expected to love Alexander or be loved by him. He offered her affection and protection - that was enough from a noble husband. Her fate was tied to his. Without an heir, she would be fair game were she to lose her husband. Hephaistion assured her safety, but he could barely hide his own distraught and grief. Thank God Alexander survived, but he sent her away with Krateros back to Persia. 

Susa. She could still hear all the cheers and singing and drinking games - the mass weddings between Macedonian senior officers and Persian noble women. What a farce! Ironically, it was one of the few festive occasions she was allowed to attend, yet she had no desire to be present. She watched them; at the center of the massive banquet, Alexander and Hephaistion seated with the Persian princesses - Darius’ daughters - regal, handsome, on top of the world for all to revere. The message couldn't be more clear - their children would have royal Macedonian and Persian imperial blood flowing in their veins. Their grandchildren would unite their lineages and be the future of the dynasty. What of her now, Roxana? An insignificant nobody from backwater Sogdia. Even if she had children now, they’d always come after the Persian woman's. She sat through the banquet stone faced. Leaving would be considered spiteful - the palace eunuchs were hungry for such mishaps.

Why all the women were left in Susa as Alexander marched onwards to Ektabana and Babylon she would not know. She had ceased to try to understand Alexander. He was an enigma. His world overlapped little with hers. She resigned to the idea of a lonely life in the harem, like many women before her. She could only guess why it was she that had been summoned to Ektabana. 

Hephaistion had died a few weeks ago. She was saddened. She had grown used to his presence, having spent much time in his care when they'd trekked through India. Alexander’s restless energy was dizzying; she felt more at ease with the quieter and more reserved Hephaistion. She had heard of camp rumors about the two men. Her imagination was not adequate to rouse any jealousy. She did not understand the Greeks, but she did understand Hephaistion’s kindness. He did not treat her as a rival; there was no need to. She was part of Alexander that he took responsibilities to protect. She was bitter when she was sent away with Krateros, wondering whether she was part of the “forgive me” package. Not long before that Alexander had rebuked Hephaistion publicly for coming to a blow with Krateros. Since Krateros hated everything Persian, her time in his care would not resemble that in Hephaistion’s. Now Alexander had lost Hephaistion. Would he have more room in his heart for her?

Alexander stood next to the window, a wine cup in his hand. He stared out but saw nothing. He felt numb. Time had ceased to exist. The past weeks felt like a blur. 

Hephaistion, his rock and refuge. His other half. He had known him for as long as he could remember. He could not fathom a world where he didn’t have Hephaistion’s comfort, counsel and love. Hephaistion was supposed to stay behind when he inevitably got killed on battle fields. Hephaistion was to protect his family, his empire and legacy. They were one, body and soul, now cut open in half. A sudden anger swept over him - I hate you. You chided me for being reckless, but you blew off the doctor’s order and killed yourself with chicken and wine. Bloody fool! How dare you leave me a wretched wreck? In a rage he threw the wine cup at a bust at the corner of the room.

A gasp behind him. He turned to stare at the slender figure draped in black. She seemed shocked. Roxana, he had summoned her, because he needed an heir. Now more than ever.

Roxana froze at the sight. The room was dim with a heavy wine stench. Many busts of Hephaistion crowded on tables, chests and the floor - marble, bronze, ivory and more. She barely recognized the man standing in front of her. He was more haggard than he'd been after crossing the Gedrosian desert; his eyes bloodshot and hollow with dark circles; his famous golden lion’s mane was gone. She had never seen him with a beard. He seemed confused who she was. Reflexively she knelt down. 

“Joy to you, Alexander. I'm sorry about the Chiliarch’s passing.”

As if thrusted by a dagger, Alexander crumbled to a chair. He had his chest cut open once to remove an arrow. He could take it. It was nothing comparing to the anguish he was feeling now consuming him mercilessly. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Roxana walked towards him. Her Greek was rather fluent, but she could find no words. She put her hands on his shoulders and embraced him. 

That night as she lay next to Alexander, she found no familiarity of the marital bed. There was no passion, just mechanics. Alexander cried out Hephaistion's name in his sleep. Roxana bit her lips and turned her head, her eyes met with the many Hephaistions’ gazes.

For the second time in her marriage, Alexander visited her a few nights in a row. She had no illusions why she was here. It made no difference. She wanted a child just as much. She’d been living in the harem under the scrutinizing eyes of the Persian queen mother, her granddaughters, their courtiers and eunuchs who seemed ready to destroy her at their first opportunity. A child would be her protection. She would have someone to hold during the long Persian nights.

Sometime that winter, his visits stopped. She was with child.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pella, 319 BC**

Roxana walked out of the temple of Dionysos with Olympias. The Macedonian autumn was glorious - lush green pastures stretched over meandering hills; golden brown foliage painted against clear sky; the lake nearby glistening with reflections. It was starting to get chilly. She wrapped the cloak a little tighter around her shoulders. Little Alexander was skipping joyfully in front of them.

“I used to bring Alexander here.” said Olympias. “He adored Dionysos, who gave us such abundance and pleasure. The Dionysia was his favorite festival.”

“I heard about the wine God in India, in Nysa. It was said Dionysos founded the city.” said Roxana. She remembered the night when Alexander came to her full of excitement. “Can you believe it? This is Dionysos’ city.” He even brought her an ivy Garland. She did not know who Dionysos was, nor understood any of his sentiment. So she thanked him as usual for his gift, and felt she did something wrong when she saw the disappointment on his face.

“Indeed. Dionysos, the son of Zeus and a mortal mother. My son had gone farther than him.”

“The whole army was in a festive mood. They celebrated like a real Dionysia.”

“Naturally. They had not been home for years. I thought maybe he would turn around then and come back.”

 _“I sing of Dionysos, the son of glorious Semele…”_ little Alexander sang gleefully.

Olympias smiled warmly at him. She turned Roxana. “Where did he learn this song?”

“I taught him, lady Mother. I learned it to sing at the Macedonian banquet, when I met Alexander for the first time.”

“He said you had a beautiful voice.”

Roxana's eyes turned misty, remembering those early days. Her happiest days. She had his attention and affection, more than she had expected. She was growing fond of him. “He told me you sang it to him when he was a child.” her thoughts drifted. “He was most pleased when I sang. We couldn’t talk much - I knew little Greek then, and he enjoyed talking most. So I learned to sing in Greek. Later in India, I learned to play the lyre also.”

“I’m sure he was pleased with that.” said Olympias surprisingly. Roxana paused. She never had the chance to play for him. Instead, she said, “My mother loved singing and taught me. She used to take me to the temples, and I always wanted to sing there. She said it was no place for girls to sing at the holy places. Sometimes I got mad and just started singing and she’d be horrified and covered my mouth.” said Roxana with a smile, lost in memory.

“I know very well what it’s like to have an unruly child in the temple. Alexander stole sweets from the alter once. The priest was aghast. I gave him a good beating that time. I didn't know he was starved by his tutor.” sighed Olympias. “Have you heard from your mother?”

Roxana shook her head. Who would care what happened in the remote corner of Bactria when every man was fighting for his own gain? She had no idea whether her mother was still alive.

“She’d be very proud of little Alekos.” said Olympias softly. “He was very respectful in the temple.”

“Yes, she would be. She always said I was lucky to have a pious king for a husband.” She hesitated a bit, then continued. “Lady Mother, I had heard sedated snakes would lay at the altar here. I didn't see any.” she regretted almost as soon as she said it.

“So you had. I suppose you heard there were snakes in my bed as well.” Olympias let out a laugh. “Indeed. It’s a much better story that Philip was driven away from my bed by snakes than the King being a lecherous swine.” Roxana was shocked by the resentment in her voice. Some things were not to be forgiven. “I imagine you’d heard much more about me. The truth is, Roxana, I didn’t do anything a noble Macedonian woman wouldn’t do. Didn’t matter - I was always the foreign shrew.”

So was I, Roxana thought of the last few years when she was passed from one general to another. That little barbarian witch, and her barbarian bastard. She heard them say.

“They probably told you Alexander was running away from me also.” sneered Olympias. 

Roxana shook her head. “No. Alexander let people know he only trusted you. And the Chiliarch.” 

“Roxana, please tell me - did he, did my son leave any words for me? There was no one I could ask.” Olympias teared up.

“I don’t think so. He could hardly talk then.” Roxana wished the answer had been different.

**Babylon, 323 BC**

Perdikkas sat in the receiving room outside of Roxana's chamber, twisting the royal ring on his finger absently. The turbulent past few months had worn him out. 

He was the new Chiliarch. A surprise. Not that he didn't think he well deserved it, but Alexander never showed favors to any of his men but Hephaistion. Krateros held much prestige; he could have been recalled easily. Ptolomy, Nearchos, Leonnatos, Seleukos, even Eumenes all had ambitions. He knew he owed it to his friendship with Hephaistion. Perdikkas might have been the only one who genuinely shared Alexander's grief. Over the years he came to appreciate Hephaistion - his talent, his diplomacy, his attention to details and his utter devotion to Alexander. He had shared Alexander's dreams and ideals. They hadn't always agreed; though he'd always supported the king in public, and born the discord with the man in private. Perdikkas had grown rather good at recognizing when all was not well - gritted teeth, clenched jaws, bloodshot eyes, sometimes bruises on his face. There was only one Hephaistion.

Perdikkas desperately wanted to prove that he could fill Hephaistion's shoes. To his relief, Alexander never showed dissatisfactions with him, though he also showed little interest. The passion for conquests simply disappeared. Perdikkas wasn't a sentimental man, yet he worried when Alexander drank himself to oblivion night after night. No longer the life of parties, he drank quietly with few words - a lonely shade of his past self.

When the end came, they crowded over his death bed in despair. “Alexander, to whom do you leave your empire?” No answer. Alexander looked peaceful as he drew his last breath.

“Joy to you, general”. 

Perdikkas stood up and bowed to Roxana. “Joy to you, my Queen.”

Roxana was taken aback by the greeting from the almost stranger. No one had ever addressed her this way. Sure, she was one of the king’s wives - his first even; that didn’t make her the queen.

“I've come to pledge my loyalty to my Queen, and my King's unborn child.” said Perdikkas carefully, taking a step forward. All gloves were off among the generals. He needed more than the royal ring. Roxana was a mere barbarian woman; but if her child was a boy he could claim the throne. Never underestimate a mother's influence - he thought of Olympias. Besides, Roxana’s brothers held high commands in the cavalry. With his own brothers in the infantry, he would be in a very strong position. He needed her on his side.

“Thank you.” Roxana tried to smile. “We should be most fortunate to have your loyalty.”

“There has been much discussions among the generals for the succession,” continued Perdikkas. “But I know the King wished to leave his kingdom to his son, if your child is a boy.”

“Did he say so?” asked Roxana forlornly.

“He…” Perdikkas studied her face. Why would that matter? He could never understand women. “He was very ill.” It was true. “But it was obvious.”

Roxana's face twitched with anger. She had suspected as much - Alexander hadn’t made provisions for her, or his child. Someday she might forgive a dying man with a broken heart. Now she must fight for herself. 

“Thank you, general. You will have my trust and confidence.” It was understood. 

“Rumor has it, my Queen, that Princess Stateira is also with child.”

“That's impossible! She hadn't seen Alexander for a year!” cried Roxana with rage. That Persian whore, daughter of a coward.

“All the same. She could make up stories and people would believe her. She was his wife. Even Barsine is parading her son as Alexander's bastard. Some are very happy to stake behind them.”

“I will not have my son's inheritance challenged.” hissed Roxana. 

“Not sure if you have heard, my Queen,” hesitated Perdikkas, “Lady Olympias, Alexander's mother, had his half brother removed after Philip's death - the baby being full Macedonian and all.”

“Yes, I had heard. The child's young mother too. It was necessary. General, would you do the necessary for me? I will be forever in your debt.”

“I'm at your service, my Queen.”

“And her sister.” Roxana thought of the sisters - how they looked over her as if she hadn't existed. That little Bactrian mouse, they'd laughed behind her back. 

Perdikkas hesitated. Hephaistion's widow? She had done nothing wrong. He almost felt guilty. But Roxana was right; he could not risk leaving her behind.

“Very well, my Queen. I will take care of it.”

Perdikkas bowed and left with a smirk. Women, he thought, are so simple minded - Aristotle was right. At least he didn't have to worry about the Persians any more. And if… it was _her_ idea.

***

Roxana lay in bed, drenched in sweat and pain. She thought she was dying - her body being torn in pieces. She had a piece of cloth in her mouth to muffle her screams. The fate of an empire was hanging on to the birth of her child; ultimate precautions must be taken.

She had experience this pain once before in India, though much quicker. She had miscarried a boy while Alexander was away. Hephaistion paid her a visit after purifying sacrifices had been made. It was no place for a general - the gesture was clear - anyone dared to sneer at her misfortune would need to get past him first. He couldn't meet her eyes as he whispered, “I am sorry. Please rest well, for Alexander.” She wasn’t too distressed; she was young still.

“My lady, just push when the pain comes.” urged the midwives. She wanted to curse at them but was too exhausted. How can you push when you are paralyzed by the pain? She convulsed with each wave of agony while attempting to muscle every bit of strength.

A dam finally broke. She felt such relief as if she had left her own body. A loud cry pierced through the dark night.

“A boy! My lady.”

Roxana stared at the pink wrinkled bundle. She couldn't make out his features except for the thick dark hair on the tiny head. 

She reminisced the last time she visited Alexander. The fire in his eyes had long been extinguished on the day of Hephaistion’s funeral, along with those in the sacred temples. He held out his hand. She moved closer, took it and laid it on her belly. He smiled at her.

“Alexander, we have a son.” She whispered and kissed the crown of the baby's head, tears running down her cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Pella, 319 BC**

“I hate porridge!” declared the child. Roxana was on the brink of losing her patience. She had spent the past hour cajoling little Alexander over his breakfast.

“I know, sweetheart. It’s delicious when you mix it with yogurt and honey; it makes you big and strong!”

“General Kassandros.” announced a servant.

Roxana stood up from her chair to greet the unexpected guests. 

“Joy to you, lady Roxana. And you, my King.”

“Joy to you, General Kassandros.” She had met Antipatros’ son only a few times. For some reason she always felt uneasy in his presence. Maybe it was the way he avoided eye contact, or his muffled words which she couldn't understand, or how she felt being watched behind her back.

“Kassandros! Tell Mother porridge is disgusting.” pleaded Alexander.

Kassandros stared at the child and felt nauseous. 

Of all of Alexander’s companions from Mieza, he was the only one left behind when Alexander started his Asian campaign. Even the invalid Harpalos got to tag along. And how has _that_ panned out? He thought resentfully. It could have only been Alexander’s spite that had kept him from the glories and riches. Furthermore, he had to live with his father’s constant gripes and scrutiny. That old fool - too loyal to see Alexander’s vices - had not seen it coming when Alexander summoned him to Babylon, all but stripping his power in Greece. Kassandros had to visit Babylon to petition with his old foe on his father's behalf.

He had no idea what to expect. The experience was unpalatable. He hated everything in Babylon - the flattering court, the gaudy decors, the prostrations without a shred of dignity, the ever despicable king who got wasted every night and that fucking funeral. Only a delirious tyrant would deplete the treasury for such vanity! Kassandros could barely hide his loathing, and Alexander knew it. So he received a very kingly strike on the chin one night. 

Babylon had come to Macedon now, and he was to serve this half barbarian child.

“My King, I’m afraid my Lady is right. You need to eat to get strong. My lady - is there anything I can be of your service?”

Before Roxana could answer, the child bursted out.

“But I _am_ strong already! Kassandros, I want you to teach me to ride horses!”

Kassandros replied coolly. “You are too young to ride yet, Alexander.”

“Am not! Grandmama gave me this horse and a sword! Look!” The child pointed at a wooden rocking horse in the corner. “They were Father's. I will be a great warrior like him!”

“Of course. But your father was a couple years older when he took up riding.”

“I will be better than him then. Besides, I am the king. You are to do what I ask, are you not?” He tilted his head to the left in defiance.

Kassandros went pale; sweat coming down his forehead on this cold winter morning. The child glared at him; that glare he would never forget.

“Very well, my King. I will make arrangements.” He bowed and stalked out. 

***

“Kassandros was here?” Olympias stormed in a few moments later.

“Yes. He hasn't left for long.”

“What did he want?” Olympias steeled herself.

“Nothing particular. He wanted to know if we needed anything.” Roxana became suddenly aware she was being watched.

“Grandmama, Kassandros is to teach me to ride horses!” said Alexander gleefully.

“I see.” frowned Olympias, pacing around the room. “Roxana, Alekos will live with me. Pack up for him. I’ll send servants soon.” It was an order.

“What?” Roxana’s breath caught, “You’re taking him away from me?” Her lips quivered.

Sensing her panic, Olympias softened. “Roxana dear, this isn’t about you, or me. Alekos needs my protection.” She glanced at the boy, who was rocking happily on the wooden horse. “Why do you think Antipatros brought him here? Not to enjoy the Macedonian snow!”

Roxana had no answer. She had not given it much thought; it would have made no difference. Since Alexander’s death many battles had been fought; many had died; many had switched sides; marriage alliances had been made and broken. She had been in custodies of one stranger after another; none had bothered to explain to her. “It’s best for the kings.” she had been simply told. Surely they loved Alexander too much to harm us, she had thought, holding her child tight.

“Antipatros always hated me.” continued Olympias. “He was Philip’s man. He thought I’d poisoned Alexander’s heart against him. The truth is, Alexander asked me to keep an eye on him. I knew when he was plotting behind Alexander’s back; when he asked for more money than needed so he could pocket it himself; when he delayed to send reinforcement because he was an incompetent commander.

“So he hated me. When Alexander listened to me, he hated him too. Roxana, I know it, they killed him! They poisoned him, Kassandros and his brother Iollas!” her body shaking with fury.

Roxana stood stunned. “They could not have …” If they did, it was because Alexander had let them, thought Roxana ruefully.

“Of course they could!” cried Olympias. “He would not have been the first assassinated Macedonian king; or the last. I’ve lived in this court for almost forty years. Nothing is off limits. I have done the unthinkable myself, so Alexander could be king with a clean conscience. I don’t regret it one bit.” her eyes burning with fire.

“I have done the same for _my son_.” murmured Roxana, shocking herself. She had not thought of Stateira since it had happened. 

Olympias looked deeply into Roxana’s eyes. “So you know. All these men - the vultures flying over their prey. They couldn’t wait to turn on each other. I will destroy them. I will avenge my son! I will not let them touch my grandson! Roxana, _we_ are all he has. I will protect him until my last breath. I swear by Alexander’s name. You must trust me!” she clasped Roxana’s hands tightly. 

Roxana stared at the older woman and saw her own reflection in the sky blue eyes. She nodded. “I will pack for him.”

“Thank you.” Olympias kissed her and started leaving.

“Mother!” 

Olympias paused and raised an eyebrow. 

“Alexander did leave words for you - he’d wished for you to raise his son. He said, you’d raised a great king. You would raise another.”

As if struck by a thunderbolt, Olympias crumbled into Roxana’s arms. She had not grieved publicly - they had stolen her son’s body and robbed her the proper lament. She had born all the sorrow stoically, not wishing to show anyone her vulnerability; only every second of her life was lived with the immense pain of a broken heart. 

Tears from the past four years were finally pouring out, like a thunderstorm over the Aegean Sea.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Historically Olympias was in Molossia when Roxana and Alexander arrived in Macedon. She was to stay there for two more years.  
> 2\. Little is known about their lives together except all three were murdered by Kassandros. This story is pure fiction.  
> 3\. I chose the Greek spellings of names to stay in the Mary Renault fandom.


End file.
